the unwilling have left
yet again, the summery day glowers down at them
them basking in the glorious epochal on the summer night
a far away cry hath not heard
the bellow of a woman who lost all but not
dread and misery crawl on
catching up with her, beating her.
1 comment:
oooh, pwetty. did i tell u that ur writing has gained much depth over time?
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